a postscript to last week’s installment: klaus-heiner prodded th smoldering mound of ashes th day after our bonfire & checked it out again afew more times before departure, finding embers that would spark to life at th slightest provocation. wehad lit th bonfire on Saturday night & after th ‘band of deutschers’ left on Tuesday I turned my attention toreorganizing stuff & reterritorialising th house…what wouldn’t be my surprise when exactly a week from our evening light-up, after a few days of dryweather & rising mercury, I get a whiff of smoke & look out th window to see th pile of ashes has burstinto full flame, with no outside assistance, as far as I could figure! signs & portents…

I made garden work my priority for these two weeks as th moon began to wane- popular wisdom has itthis is th right time for pruning, planting & transplanting. th last few days, however, I’ve experienced aserious drop in energy, motivation & momentum…not sure yet how much of it is physical tiredness, howmuch emotional fallout…as if i could trace a clear border between th two…

sonnabend into Sonntag…ah what’s th use, what’s th use of living in this material world-this densely rational, consistently sensuous illusion?what’s th use of all this barely contained flesh & blood, th sad sack of our skin pulling & stretching its wrinkles to make believe we can fulfill one another-flesh achy-breaking in lust after flesh, blood knocking on blood’s echo only to spill it…why not yield & surrender to th safely controlledmatrix of pure image & th pleasures of virtuality?what’s th use? if we cannot lose & recover our selves in each other, among th ten thousand objects of this worldbut join their number in sinking isolation or desperately feeding off & on one another like ever-dissatisfied hungry ghosts- what’s th use?

hugs,d=(8{>

wanderlust media
grounding the virtual realm, retracing age-old footpaths to rest at home in the motion of desire.

i remember another moon, not brighter by much…(th lavender candle burns low on th verge of snuffing it)discipline -in th sense of an unflagging constancy of effort-needs th starting or renewal point of expressed intentions

i have become an inveterate puttering circle artist. not quite procrastinating, not quite achieving, reordering